


'Tis a Pity, Young One

by TEC



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Symbolism Galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 13:16:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21198269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TEC/pseuds/TEC
Summary: A young child sits on a swing, alone.As the wind blows, the trees swinging and birds chirping, an older figure makes an appearance.They stand together, and the dangers of the mysterious blue light, comes into play.All is silent, for a little while at least.





	'Tis a Pity, Young One

Pity them, little one. Do not hear their cackling as you sit on a lonely swing, feeling the air flowing past you with each movement of your legs. Do not call after them as they run off after fooling you, because they do not acknowledge their own wind pushing them forward. They are surrounded by blue light, the light so bright that it sears into their skin, clinging to their soul and blinding their mind to any feeling of the conscious.

It is a pity, little one, that they are so blinded by the blue light, that they cannot even fathom the danger they put themselves in. How they prattle, their tongues flicking like a rattle, at how foolish their lives are. Yet don’t they look rather wolfish with foxy grins, little one? How they preen and grovel, liken to a hideous beast with a snarl. Do you see a smile, little one? These pearly teeth that they show with every laugh, with glimmering hair that they call silk. 

No? Why is that little one? Is it because of the lens that they point their canines to? How they fluff the frizz before even showing a touch of their whites? Or is it because you are envious of them, the way their magnetize those around them to their whim. All the words needed to get a group, that would make any hermit vomit with anxiety, is the promise of a picture of themselves with another?

No, don’t sputter. I know what you mean with all those stutters. You do not take kindly to them because of the lens, the opulent lens that anyone with the know-how of metal and wire could comprehend. It’s construction a means to an end, with the pale green of paper that holds more value than their pride. You only see the stiffness around their mouth, false happiness hidden by an upward angle that takes away their blemishes and shows only their garnishes.

Tell me, little one, do you admire the blue light? How it illuminates the face, even in the darkest of nights? How much power one can hold in their grasp; the blue light rivals the power of the hourglass. 

The hourglass. Once man’s greatest accomplishment. The acknowledgement that our star means more than the light that it descends. Yet its great influence is overshadowed by the power in blue light’s possession. When once the grains in the glass were worshipped, now it is considered a curse that should never have been invented. The power that is promised is hypnotizing and tantalizing to all who consider it, and it cannot be ignored to all the weak- minded who only care for attention and affection, not caring if they have any affiliation to those who love and like their many self-portraits.

Do you like the soft hue? Why not? Is it too blinding to you? Too many lights of many colors glaring at you all at once, straining your own color till white bleeds into it. Yes, I see. Seeing so many flock to their associates’ blue lights, showing off photos that aren’t real and jokes that only consist of photos of many meanings. Seeing how they cackle and chortle at those in pain, self-inflicted or accidental it matters not. Quite disturbing, isn’t it?

And look how they run! How they cry and scream at those who critique their age and their lack of dress. How they complain and whine, while they dine off their givers’ wallets. Not thinking about how the ones who critique are the ones who have experience with the land that all are dependent upon now.

Seeing such horrors and abominable behavior from the ones that hide behind false names and real intentions, they try and warn the young how they are used and beaten down through the light. But do they listen? No, never. They think themselves independent, the power of the blue light’s knowledge festering in their mind until they think they are the adult. They believe they provide for themselves. They act that they are knowledgeable of all the knowledge that the blue light promises, while they only know a grain of it.

Can you imagine, little one? Oh, how easy it is! How easy the blue light enslaves, its hue digging into the fleshy brain and laying eggs. Those eggs hatching with the fatty nutrients of falsities, eating the tissue and drinking the juice, turning our eyes white with mindlessness and helplessness. Such atrocities, the blue light has caused. Making the sane insane, the social turning into the lonely, the lonely acting social. Turning people into their opposites, their worst side, promising that all the pain will end in fortune, fingers crossed behind the spine and breath smelling of brainstem.

You are outside, I see. How curious. Aren’t the trees you see across the world enough, the sounds of the forest coming from your own little box soothing? Why do you insist on going outside, enjoying our star’s warm hues and the breeze, that has worked so hard to get to you? Do you enjoy the simplicity, the lovely, simple Sun. How it loves and protects, even though it is one of the most destructive objects in the universe?

Am I talking too fast? Too much information has come to past? Terribly sorry, I figured with how fast you switch and pick and like the little pictures that the blue light allows, you’d be able to think and acknowledge all that I say. You’re different? So, you laugh like a thousand others, dress the same as a million bodies, you also talk like a billion many I assume.

You are the exception, you say. What’s the progressive hobby you are supporting, but not doing this week? What little string of syllables and poor bits of grammar are you encouraging for the day? What food, that is part of that culture–though not at all–that you are showing to the same couple dozen people, are you eating with a funny vowel for the month? What tragedy are you showering with digital tears, but have better things to do for the year? How is it, that you have had conscious thought for barely a decade, but insist that showing is the same as doing?

Quit your whining and denial! I care not for your petty words and useless screaming. I will not say that it was too long ago, that actions were the currency for praise, because back then it was all dress up as well. I am not wise either. I have cursed, and I have screamed. I have bitten and I have snarled. I have preened, and I have groveled. I am a hypocrite, just as you.

I am doing nothing for the things I should be doing something about. I am standing here, when I should be somewhere. I am sad when I should be glad. I am alone, when I should be acting as if I’m gold. I am going to hurt for the things I have not done. I will be on my final bed, pulling air into tired lungs, looking around with exhausted eyes, and thinking nonsense with a deprived brain. I cannot say “at least,” because I am like you, only with more weary eyes and a runny nose.

I am not a warning, and I am not a second coming. If there were to be a second coming, we would be so paranoid and blinded, we would shoot it down and insist that peace is always the answer.

Blue light. Has the blue light done all of this? Has it laid so many eggs, in so many places, that it has enslaved us to kill each other, and our idols? So many questions, yet so few answers. The blue light has so much knowledge, but does it have knowledge we truly need. Can it answer the questions I am questioning you with? Maybe if I dig through all the dress and silly vowels, it will.

Blue light. Has the blue light protected itself with its stupidity?

Blue light. The light the last one many have ever seen.

Blue light. The idol that we worship without question, with no will for a suggestion.

Blue light. A demon equal to its angel.

Blue light. A dream within a nightmare, within lucidity.

Blue light. Blue light. Blue light!

It is a power so powerful, that even though I despise, I still talk of it. I still am passionate about it, even if I’m against it. You would think with all the silly vowels telling to let go of the things that hurt us, I would finally shut up! Another example of how similar Love is to Hate. How irrational it is, how you cannot stop talking and thinking about the subject of your passion. Do I love the blue light, and am just hiding my fire for the hopes of its recognition? Or do I despise it, and these are just words of love that no man can decipher.

So many questions! But can any of them be answered?

Am I raving? Am I mad? They are the same, yet are different, just as the blue light says. Am I in love, or am I in hate? So different, the blue light says, yet they are of sameness. They are similar in their ways; can they even be told apart? They both make you scream, make you choke. They make you want to die yet live out of spite. The blue light says they are different. How can they be when they are the same though?

Am I having a fit? Here, check my pulse! If it is steady, then my own body is false. If it is steady, I am living a lie and I am not ready.

I am obsessed with blue light, both used as daylight, and a nightlight, even if such use makes them curse the pretty sunlight. Morning light, afternoon bright, night’s moonlight. None are equal to the blue light. All cower at the feet of the blue light.

Hate me if you wish. Love me if you despise them as I do. Love me if you hate to see them grovel at words of crippled hearts from another land. Feel warmth at the sight of me if your eye twitches at the sight of their fakeness, at how they turn on beauty like a light switch. Be fond of my memory if you wish pain on those who only give hearts made of random numbers to the hearts that are breaking under the pressures.

Do you see it too? How easy it is to be fond of the soft hue. Even if it itself warns of its dangers. Not that they care of its many wounds. Oh, how deformed we are becoming, yet we shout in shock at our straining backs. We cry in fright at our whitened eyes, that we defy with pretty lights. We curse, in a voice that is hoarse, at our cracking necks.

We are at reverence with the blue light. We are in awe at the sight of blue light. We worship our idol, blue light. It is our new god, our beautiful blue light. It will save us all, our merciful blue light. It will kill us all, our hateful, savage, unfeeling, cold, disgusting blue light.

Kill us all, blue light. All you would need is to not exist, and we would fall to our knees in prayer, blue light.

We would die, blue light.

We would kill each other, blue light.

We need you, blue light.

We love you, blue light.

We despise you, blue light.

We wish your death, blue light.

We hope you implode, blue light.

Burn, blue light.

Smolder, blue light.

Crackle, blue light.

Blaze, blue light.

We do all these things with you, Blue Light.

We see Blue Light in town. We depend on Blue Light when we frown. We see how Blue Light is so pretty in the darkness of night, not caring if Blue Light is one day the gun we hold in horrid fright. Do we care if Blue light will be our destruction? The one thing in the entire world that will never need an introduction. We are obsessed with our idol. We love it so, that we have made an entire bible. Our merciful, murderous, kind, savage, hateful, loving Blue Light. We will give you our blood, at your command, Blue Light.

Are you scared yet, little one? Do my words frighten you, little one? Did you think me a helpless body, little one? Do you think me erratic, little one? Do you see me insane, little one? Are you too young, little one? Do you not wish to, little one? Do your lungs hurt, little one? See Blue, little one. See the Light, little one.

‘Tis a pity, young one.

**Author's Note:**

> If any tags should be needed, please comment which should be in Tags, in the comments below.


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